


Seasons

by namaste



Category: Bring Me The Horizon, Paramore
Genre: F/M, Hayliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namaste/pseuds/namaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because whenever I hear the pitter-patter of rain on the rooftop, or smell strawberries, or listen to someone’s story, I will remember.</p>
<p>I will always remember our story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollface/gifts), [aweewah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweewah/gifts).



> This is the very first Hayliver fic I wrote, and it shows the progression of their relationship all wrapped up in a fluffy blanket of feels.

_Just an outline made of skin  
And my walls are paper-thin_

You always said that spring was your favourite season, solely due to the fact that the flowers blossomed and everything was lively. Nothing hurt then and time was merely a human construct. The faded edges of my memories gained clarity whenever I breathed in the fresh air. But if I really concentrated on those moments, it didn’t smell purely fresh. It smelled like your hair, especially that strawberry-scented soap that you swore wasn’t strong enough of a scent. When you’d lie beside me, I’d know it was you though because of that aroma. It also smelled of rain water, the kind that pitter-pattered on the rooftop as we splashed through puddles on the way home from the bakery.

“Well, would you look at that.”

A whisper, the smile on your lips, directed towards me as you wrung out your hair, the ends curling slightly. We stood under the awning of your house and I leaned forward to look at what you were pointing out.

“I don’t see what you’re---”

“Look a little closer.”

My eyes strained in the semi-darkness as I saw a miniscule creature, a flash of red on the daffodils flourishing in a windowsill pot. I reached over to turn on the light, illuminating the small porch. The ladybug shifted before settling again on the daffodil.

“Hayley, c’mon, I’ll fix you a hot drink and we can have some of that bread too, if you’d like.” My fingers threaded through yours, mine almost instantly warming at the contact.

“Fine, but I need to go out to the garden once it stops raining.” That was your response to me, followed by a quick kiss on my cheek as we went inside, flicking lights on so we weren’t fumbling through the dark.

You didn’t tend to the garden after we ate bread and butter with our large mugs of tea in hand. Instead, we sat on the couch and you insisted that I tell you a story, much to my dismay. We both had to work in the morning. I glanced at the clock, the neon numbers flashing at me like a warning: _2:14_. How could I say no to those eyes and that pout though? You tucked your head into the space under my chin, the blanket wrapped around us comfortably, and waited. I cleared my throat, knowing you hated the sound and how it amplified at your angle.

“This will be a short one,” I said carefully, gauging your reaction with a quick glance. 

“Just hurry up and tell the story, Oli,” came your muffled response as you buried your face in my neck. 

I kept on telling the story, even after I knew you had fallen asleep. 

_I wanna let you color me in_

Everyone always thought we were destined to be a summer romance left to extinguish itself like a candle thrown into a rainstorm. It was true that we’d met in the summertime but if anything that only made me more stubborn to keep you. I had never seen you so upset until the day you came home and I was in a drunken stupor, the dressing table nearly torn apart and your belongings scattered around the house. Half a dozen shirts, a few dresses, a lone shoe and two mismatched socks were at my feet when you found me in the bathtub. You turned the showerhead on faster than I could comprehend at the time, dousing me in water so cold that my teeth ground together and my face felt numb. Then you turned it off and took my face into your soft, delicate hands. 

“Are you fucking insane?” You recoiled at the smell of beer on my breath and clothes, the confused expression on my face morphing into shame. 

“I---you. . .where did you go?” Tears blurred my vision as I tried in vain to blink them away, a knot forming in my throat at the struggle. “I went to the garden and Ms. May said you went out with a bunch of boxes, I’d thought you were leaving m---" 

You searched my eyes for any hint of deceit but you didn’t find it; I was unsure if that was what you were looking for in the first place. “Oli, why would you think that? I went to the homeless shelter and donated a bunch of things. How long have you been completely trashed?” 

“Since noon, I reckon,” I replied, my tongue a lead weight in my mouth as I sat up with my back to the bath tile wall. 

“I’ll go make a remedy for when you need it. Goddamnit, Oli, you’re a mess, you know that?” You threw me a towel and told me to change into new clothes, then to “sit nice and pretty on the couch.” 

On shaky legs, I stumbled out of the bathroom and proceeded to run right back, dry heaving into the porcelain throne. I heard the clatter of cutlery and the string of curses under your breath. You were right there; ready to help in any way possible. I turned to you, wiping my mouth with one hand. “I’m your mess though, right?” 

You rolled your eyes, your hand stilling its circular motions on my back. “Of course, Oli.” 

_Feel like I'm drowning from the sound  
Of all the silence all around_

You were out in the garden and I was in the house searching for some tool you’d misplaced in the cupboard when I heard you call out for me. I ran out to where I’d seen you last, pruning at something or another, and saw you doubled over in pain. I didn’t know what to do and for a split second I froze on the spot. But then I remembered I wasn’t dreaming and this was real life; a beautiful but cruel world where life and death coexisted and every second counted. I dialed 911 and answered all that I could about your medical history. You chimed in to the paramedics to correct me whenever I hesitated before you passed out altogether. I buried my face in my hands and wondered how the story would end, how this could really be happening. 

“She doesn’t have much time to live, Mr. Sykes,” Dr. Williams said, lowering his glasses to wipe away a smudge. 

The words echoed in my mind on loop, desperately clawing at my insides and increasing the anxiety building up and threatening to break me. “How long?” 

“At the most, six months but possibly longer. It’s not something we can exactly pinpoint. I need to you go over some paperwork with her; from my understanding, you both live together and she doesn’t have any contact with her immediate family?” 

“That’s. . .right.” Hayley never spoke about her parents and had only told me that she’d moved from one foster home to the next. I suspected that it was because she didn’t know who her birth parents were, nor did she want to know. I’m not sure I would want to know either after all those years. 

“It’s best that you do this now while she’s still fighting it,” he continued, his tone softening as he noticed my furrowed brows. “You said she was in the garden when this happened, correct?” Dr. Williams noticed my blank expression and sighed. “Hayley shouldn’t be exerting too much energy into those type of activities. She’ll be able to go home tomorrow after some tests since she chose home care and scheduled check ins.” 

_My thoughts are bound I'm going down  
I'm turning inside out_

I could never return to the house or garden after you left me, Hayley. Those last few months I shared with you, you were the ghost of your former self. Everything hurt but you tried to pull through and endure it; for yourself, for me, for us. I tried to tell you new stories, if only to silence those thoughts of me living without you and to see you genuinely smile or laugh. But whenever you’d try, the fire in your eyes was soon put out by a gut wrenching ache in your back or chest. I had every piece of you before but now I could barely grasp onto fragments. You were the mess now; the lovely mess that I tried to hold onto selfishly even after you told me I had to move forward. 

You told me that writing down our story would make me feel better and I’d be able to move on. 

I’m still unsure if that’s the reason why I did it because I don’t _want_ to move on. I know I’ll be able to love again, sure, but I don’t want to forget you. I want to remember the time we spent together, the precious moments and the ugly ones. I want to remember every colour you dyed your hair, every kiss we had, every time you told me I needed to just live and let go. Even without you here, I’ll be grasping at those fragments and I’m fine with it. 

Because whenever I hear the pitter-patter of rain on the rooftop, or smell strawberries, or listen to someone’s story, I will remember. 

I will always remember our story. 


End file.
